


object lessons

by tentaclemonster



Category: Marvel 1602
Genre: Established Relationship, Guardian-Ward Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26895847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentaclemonster/pseuds/tentaclemonster
Summary: Sir Nicholas has taught Peter plenty of things since he took Peter in. Peter appreciates it, truly. He appreciates everything Sir Nicholas has done for him, more than he could ever put into words.It’s just that some of his lessons have been far more enjoyable than others.
Relationships: Peter Parquagh/Sir Nicholas Fury
Kudos: 11





	object lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: waking up restrained & shackled.

The metal bands of the shackles are cool and snug around Peter’s wrists. Too snug for him to just slip his hands out of them even if he was desperate enough to break his thumbs to make more room, but not tight enough to bite into the skin unless he pulls at them. Not nearly as tight as Sir Nicholas could have made them if he’d wanted to. Peter feels a momentary burst of thankfulness for that before he reminds himself that Sir Nicholas is the one who chained him up to the bed while he was sleeping to begin with and then annoyance burns away the thanks.

Peter looks up from his bound hands and follows the line of the chain attached to the headboard of the bed over to the desk where Sir Nicholas sits attending to his correspondence. 

If he feels Peter’s glare on him, he doesn’t show any sign. His quill scratches at paper. His eye stays on what he’s writing. His lips are pursed in an expression of concentration as if he has no idea Peter is in the room at all. 

Peter isn’t foolish enough to think that Sir Nicholas has forgotten him, that the man isn’t completely aware of Peter even if he isn’t looking at him, but despite that he can’t quite stop the little twinge of something that burns in his chest at being so purposefully ignored.

Peter looks down at the bands around his wrists again and lets his fingers skim around the metal, poking at the holes where a key he doesn’t have would go to unlock them.

He sighs loudly. Pointedly.

When he looks up again, Sir Nicholas is still writing his letter but there’s the smallest uptick at one side of his mouth that Peter only notices because he’s used to observing Sir Nicholas and cataloging his every micro expression, every change in body language. It’s a habit Sir Nicholas has encouraged, being observant of not just him but everyone, though he’d taught Peter how to be less obvious about it. 

Sir Nicholas has taught Peter plenty of things since he took Peter in. Peter appreciates it, truly. He appreciates everything Sir Nicholas has done for him, more than he could ever put into words. 

It’s just that some of his lessons have been far more enjoyable than others.

Peter pulls hard at the chain connecting the the shackles to the bed and over the sound of the loud thunk they make, he thinks to himself: case in point.

“You’ll break your wrists before you break the chain,” Sir Nicholas says without looking up from his letter. “You’re welcome to continue if you disagree, of course, but I’ll remind you we’re due for London within the week and you’ll have a difficult time riding if you can’t manage to hold the reins.”

Peter huffs. “I wasn’t trying to break the chain. I was trying to break the wood.”

“The headboard is solid oak. Not cheaply made. It isn’t going to break so easily, either.” 

Sir Nicholas puts his quill down and looks up at Peter at last. He leans back in his seat and folds his hands over his stomach. His look is assessing, a glint in his eye that Peter knows means he’s amused. 

Peter’s face heats at the attention he knows he’d all but asked for just moments ago, his pulse skipping in that way it always does when Sir Nicholas’ full attention is on him. He’s more aware now than he was just minutes before of the fact that his skin is bare and there’s nothing covering him but the sheet slung haphazardly over his lower half. Peter can feel Sir Nicholas’ gaze like it’s a touch caressing down his chest even if the man’s eye never strays lower than his face.

Peter shouldn’t feel embarrassed or self-conscious or whatever the feeling fluttering through his chest is. He doesn’t know why he is. It isn’t like Sir Nicholas hasn’t seen it all before a thousand times already, like he hadn’t been sleeping next to Peter just as naked as he was just last night, pressed against him up until whenever he got up this morning and decided it was an excellent time to teach Peter another lesson while Peter dozed away, happily unaware of the metal enclosing around his wrists. 

Not that Peter is feeling very happy now, anyway.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have chained me to the bed, then,” Peter complains. “It doesn’t seem fair to chain someone up while they’re sleeping.”

“Do you think someone holding you prisoner will be fair? Jailors don’t often have any inclination to make it easy for their charges to escape.”

“But you’re not my jailor. You’re my --” there really wasn’t a word to encompass everything Sir Nicholas was to him, Peter thought. “-- well, my teacher. So.”

Nothing changes about Sir Nicholas’ expression except the glint in his eye seems to shine a little brighter.

Well, Peter is glad at least one of them is having fun.

“You’d like more guidance, then?” Sir Nicholas asks. 

Peter resists the urge to roll his eyes because he wants to actually leave the bed at some point before the next century.

“I would like a hint for how to get out of these,” Peter replies, shaking his bound hands for emphasis. “A jailor might not be fair, but a teacher should be, shouldn’t he?”

“Hmm.” Sir Nicholas loses his relaxed posture, going back to how he was sitting before. He looks away from Peter and picks up his quill again. He’s silent for just long enough that Peter starts to wonder if he means to not give him any help at all before he finally says, “I suggest you start by unlocking them.”

Which isn’t really the kind of help Peter had been hoping for.

He holds back another huff of frustration.

“Is the key somewhere within my reach?” Peter asks, but he already knows it’s too much to hope for even before Sir Nicholas answers.

“Did I not teach you how to pick locks just this past winter?” Sir Nicholas’ quill moves across the paper, scratching and quick. “This isn’t a new lesson, Mr. Parquagh. It’s a review of an old one. That’s your hint.”

He says nothing else and Peter supposes that’s all the guidance he’s going to get. He looks away from Sir Nicholas and frowns down at the key holes staring up at him from the cuffs.

Peter does remember the past winter. They’d spent a good few weeks of it in Hertfordshire and Sir Nicholas had been busy almost the entire time with some business he didn’t need Peter’s help with while Peter had been bored out of his mind for most of the days until Sir Nicholas returned in the evenings. They’d sat together in front of the fire, so close their sides touched, while Sir Nicholas showed Peter how to pick locks starting with an old padlock and a pin. 

It took Peter longer than it should have to learn because he was too distracted by the feeling of Sir Nicholas’ large gloved hand over his guiding him to where the pin needed to go, but Peter did learn eventually. After he could unlock the padlock quickly enough to satisfy Sir Nicholas, he replaced it with a single manacle that he clasped around Peter’s wrist and taught him how to unlock that, too.

And when Peter mastered that, one morning Sir Nicholas clasped the manacle around his wrist again and took the pin away. 

“If you’re ever in chains, the person who put you in them isn’t likely to give you a tool to use to get out of them,” Sir Nicholas had told him before leaving for his business. “Use something in the room – anything. Be resourceful. If you manage to unlock it by the time I return then I’ll treat you to a night out of this place as a reward.”

Sir Nicholas had put his hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeezed. Then he’d left Peter with his heartbeat pounding and his shoulder still warm where Sir Nicholas’ hand had been.

It had taken him hours using every even slightly sharp, thin object in the room trying to get the manacle open before finally he pried a bit of metal off of his belt and managed to use that to pick the lock. Sir Nicholas had returned not long later and gave him one of his rare smiles when he saw that Peter had suceded, telling Peter, “Good boy,” in a tone that had Peter feeling like he’d drank a glass of liquid warmth before he took Peter out like he’d promised for a late dinner and a walk around the park in the snow.

It had been a good night, one of the happiest Peter can remember.

He remembers it now, too, and finds himself thankful for it because it gives him an idea. 

He doesn’t have a pin anywhere near him, but looking over the side of the bed he sees his belt on the floor along with the rest of his clothes where Sir Nicholas had pulled them off of him last night. The belt isn’t close enough for him to reach with his hands, but if he stretches out a leg he can pull it close to him with his toes and get it that way.

Excitement and no small amount of relief comes to life in Peter’s chest. He looks over at Sir Nicholas, still writing, still pretending not to pay attention.

Peter bites down on his lip to temper his smile before turning back to his task and mentally files this away as another lesson learned.


End file.
